


There's A Memory Inside My Head (It Was You Dripping All In Red)

by Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams



Series: You're Bad (but oh, I like it) [4]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Magnus is a serial killer, Magnus' POV, Mild Gore, Violence, at least for Magnus it is, ish, overall angst tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2143581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams/pseuds/Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is his nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's A Memory Inside My Head (It Was You Dripping All In Red)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song Get Away With Murder by Jeffree Star. It's a very inspiring song for this story. It'll probably use it again sometime.

There is blood on the floor, pooling into the cracks of stained wood and dripping from the walls in odd splatters and rivers. He is so used to red by now, treats it like an old friend even, except it’s coating his own body _(and that’s wrong, he never let’s it touch him, it’s too dangerous, too risky)._ Bits of odd flesh rest under his nails which are sharp and curled like claws, like his knives, and if that doesn’t tell him that something is wrong what he sees next surely does. He looks around, takes it all in, and realizes, with a jolt, that this place is familiar, this apartment, and there is a sinking in his gut, a churn of nausea and horror and _nogodnonothimnonononono_ \--

But he can’t stop himself from walking closer, feet light on the dirty floor, as if there isn’t a flood of crimson staining what had once been a happy place in death, as if he isn’t screaming inside, and he doesn’t even slip, coming to a stop in front of the body and Magnus wants to weep.

Blank blue eyes stare up at him from a mutilated body _(precious eyes, eyes that had been so bright, so lovely and alive, eyes that had saved the man they belonged to from his knife and his torment, eyes that had drawn him in and not once let him go)_ and there is vomit rising in the back of his throat. This body was not treated with kindness, was not spared, was given all the pain it could handle, it’s life force spilled and pooling around them in cooling puddles and splotches. Those eyes speak of horrible pain, of cries for help and betrayal and heartbreak and Magnus wants to claw his own out at the knowledge that _he_ did that, put all of that there, drained the life out of someone so amazing and vibrant, who _mattered_ \--

There are sirens in the distance but Magnus can’t bring himself to move, to get away, to save himself. It’d be useless anyways, he thinks numbly, warmth seeping down his cheeks to mingle with his lover’s blood. He’s touched Alec, violated him and hurt with his own hands. They’ll have his DNA, they’ll have all they want. And then they’ll hunt him down, reverse the roles and lock him up, forever. Put him behind bars like a wild animal and never let him see the light of day again. No more freedom, no more sunshine, no more shopping, no more--

Magnus falters. No more Alec.

He doesn’t know how he ends up on the floor, folding into himself like paper in a cold flood of his lover’s blood, shaking and crying and clutching at himself with sharp claws that spare him no pain, just as they spared Alec none. And he likes that, he finds. Feels that he deserves it, claws harder until he doesn’t know whose blood is whose, staring into the dead eyes of his beloved _(his exception)_ and weeping for the man that he’d lost, who he’d taken away.

Is this how his victim’s loved one’s feel? He wonders distantly. The thought is almost enough to make him wish he’d never started seeking out people in darkened alleys, almost enough to make him want to wish away the knives and guns and cruelty, but he’s selfish, always has been, and everything is swept away with the knowledge that Alec is gone. _Gone and he’s not coming back, never coming back, oh god--_

The door bangs open and armed policemen dart into the room, surrounding his limp and shaking body as he clutches at his lover. There are shouts and demands and the roar of the world but Magnus’ ears are deaf. He doesn’t even blink when the bullet hits the back of his head, a small smile crossing his tortured face. _Good_. He thinks distantly, before everything goes black, his body falling across Alec's. _There is nothing left in this world for me, anyways._

.

.

.

_Alec, I’m so sorry._

* * *

In a bloodless apartment, with an alive Alec in his arms, Magnus jerks awake, shaken and soaked in sweat. He gasps, staring down at his lover with the eyes of a desperate man and a terrified animal. His mind has enough time to grasp the fact that Alec is alive, alive and in his arms and perfect and clean of blood---before he rolls out of bed and promptly throws up in the bathroom sink.

 _It's not real_ , he thinks, eyes squeezed shut tightly and throat closing around a sob. _Thank god, it's not real._


End file.
